


Treatise on Befuran Love

by littleshopofhoruss



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Beforan Ancestors, Beforus, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleshopofhoruss/pseuds/littleshopofhoruss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ancestors of Beforus and their tales of love, hate, pity, and freedom. As told by Huntress Simmhaji, olive-blooded recluse and inventor of the quadrant system.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Brief Introduction

Purrhaps the best way for me to begin this work is to admit just how misleading the title is. After all, I write these pages with greater intentions than merely defining the existing concepts of romance that have padded about our world’s snarling history. Though I would certainly love to be remembered for that- for my contributions to the field of romance, relationships, and speculations on the above- my greatest ambition is that these pages will serve to chronicle a hisstory of my life, as well as how it intertwined with some of the more notorious trolls to cross paths with me. Throughout it all, I will use my experiences as a vehicle to convey my theories on what purresicely love is- in all the shapes it enclawmapsses.

While I admit these ideals will certainly s33m strange to most who read them-I was raised somewhat outside the ordinary system of culling, meaning some of my views to follow will be difficult to reconcile with the values instilled by our hemospectrum and her Impurriousness- it is hardly impawssible to determine how they might fit into our culture. My culler, the illustrious Guardian Toxoties (who plays a far larger role than that of a simple culler, as you will soon s33), has agr33d to read over these chapters once I finish this book and modify the descriptions within as he s33s fit. Every word you read- fur those cooler-toned readers of mine who doubt a mere olive-blood could write so eloquently- has b33n appurroved by him. Heaven furbid I write something of my own volition… At any rate, I reiterate that for those who worry about the catliber of this work, it has b33n reviewed by a suitably highborn troll.

The work itself I will begin with a brief summation of my life so fur, focusing specifically upon my connections to the Toneless purrior to my travels and the Prophets in my earlier sw33ps of murrandering. Once a furm context has b33n established, I will tell of the types of love I have disclawvered- four types, rather than the one most trolls have limited themselves to- through examples I f33l expurress them most thoroughly. Finally, I intend to discuss a number of case studies, as it were- through what I know of the purrsonal lives of the many hisstorical figures I met, I shall attempt to analyze their compawtibility, whether the relationship was genuine or merely purrposed.

With a bit of luck I may s33 the pawblication of my work within my lifetime. I grow old and my colors fade, and I have no delusions that I might live to observe what effects these ideas might have on the world. Nevertheless, as my life grows ever shorter, I find it is furry much the best moment to give my musings and theories to the world. Surely much will come of this. If I am wrong, then the world will at least have gained a bit of entertainment. But I am not one to lose heart quite so easily-this could well come to much.

Befur I begin this in earnest, I must thank all of those who inspurred this work. If it were not for the strong encouragement of my Guardian, I would have never believed in the power my words could someday hold. The infurmation given to me by Neophyte Ceriseye (estranged though she is from her field of legiscleration) has b33n indispensable in solidifying these theories, and she deserves much credit for giving me purrmission to publish it. Above all, my thanks go posthumously to the Communer, the Marquise, and the Toneless. I can only hope that telling their stories is an adequate furm of respect for these depawted souls.


	2. Memurrs of a Huntress

My early life was fairly uneventful as far as I believe it, but my Guardian assures me my upbringing was unusual fur trolls of any hue. As such, I f33l obliged to expurrlain it, as it no doubt held some purrpose in creating some of my stranger ideas. My lusus- a defiant type, as I can gather- has long suppawted the tradition of raising her charges in the wilderness rather than bringing them up in society’s watchful eye. Although it is hardly strange for trolls of middling colors to spend some of their youth in the solitude of nature, it is rare that their lusus chooses not to usher them back to society after a few sw33ps- and rarer still that those who mature in this blissful respite from society ever return to the culture that is so fureign to them. To the best of my knowledge, there are two or thr33 dozen of these expatriates hidden in various locales about Beforus (and I dare say that if they have yet to be discovered, they never shall be). Yet I am certain I am the only one of these strange exiles from society to efur return to the cities we were supposed to make our homes in, rather than spending the entirety of my days in isolation.

Unfurtunately, my dear lusus perished early in my life, at five or six sw33ps in a cave-in. I grieved over her for days, yet I could not waste much time mourning over her passing. I had my own survival to attend to. Nevertheless, as a memorial to her, I took the name I referred to her by when she was still with me- Simmhaji.  
Soon after her passing and burial (for I refused to let the body of such a noble and loving custodian be entrusted to the jaws of Gl'bgolyb, duty though it may have b33n), a most unusual occurrence shook my life from the purrimitive existence of a huntress into on which few- if any trolls have experienced befur.  
In the middle of the sixth perig33, I awoke just after sunset only to s33 a huge flash of light outside my cave. As I ran out into the open air, I watched as the rocky ground smoldered from the impact of this fallen star. Yet as I appurroached the crater, I heard what I came to recognize as the crying of a wriggler. Ind33d, perched on top of a pockmarked boulder lay a tiny, shivering grub. At the time I knew very little about wrigglers, and I did not recognize his blood color as unusual. It was not until much later- after he found a solace in books I have come to share- that we discovered it was a compurrletely unique hue. Nevertheless, my heart was opened to him as I looked upon him, and I vowed to raise him not as a troll who merely culls another, but as a lusus tends to their wrigglers.

The hunting was furuitful in the forest, and even with an extra mouth to f33d, he grew quickly and gained a thirst for knowledge. I had little to offur him at first- I myself had no knowledge of books- but in time I learned how to steal into an abandoned hive stealthily enough, only disappearing once I had acquired a few books for this charge of mine. (Of course, at his request I always returned each one once we had both read it over.) Yet he never s33med sated by the answers offered there- he posed d33p, strange questions which few had dared to ponder on, and in the absence of answers, he made and refined his own.

He s33med as though he were scarcely a day younger than I as he spoke, deconstructing each facet of our culture of culling- the “cullture”, he called it- and purrposing a new society. I suppose it could be construed as strange that I came to love him as he spoke of hate and pity and the visions of a world where no troll was made another’s property. Then again, when one knows every facet of another person’s life, how can they not become enamored? With every day I grew more attached, yet at the same time, he grew distant, agitating himself over the state of the world and scheming for some way of changing it for good.

At about nine sw33ps of age, he chose to renounce his blood color and cloaked himself in shaded of gray, placing himself beyond the hemospectrum. His sym69ol of choice- which I am certain my readers are quite familliar with- represented a pair of handcuffs and the bondage of the culled. To seal this position of anonymity, he renounced his old name (which I have vowed to k33p as a secret until my dying day) and adopted the title of the Toneless. With that, he left, full of hope to drive us all towards a new society.  
I mourned after he left, wallowing in regret that I never told him how I felt about him. Yet life must ever turn forward, even when the simple pleasures of the past no longer mean a thing to you. I tried fur sw33ps to let go of everything that he had taught me, but the thirst for knowledge is impawssible to quench. I took up reading again, pursuing both arcane historical accounts and modern works of fantasy, with spurrinklings of efurrything in betw33n. In time, the urge to go forth and s33k my dear Toneless- to purrhaps finally explain how I felt- overtook me. Yet as soon as my hopes to be reunited with him spurred me to join society, they were dashed by my discoveries of what happened to him.


	3. The Toneless

I heard whispers about my beloved Toneless everywhere I went, yet it s33med no one was quite willing to tell his story when I asked. The murrest mention of his name brought a hush over the group- not from fear of discussing him, but out of shock that I hadn’t heard of his fate. Many a troll cast a pitying eye ofur me and asked if I had lost my culler. Finally- by one of the stranger coincidences in my life- I chanced to s33k shelter in the Cathedral of the Prophets, and there I found a sympathetic ear, one who had found himself just as isolated in life as I.

The Prophets, is, of course, an extraordinarily pawerful troll, and he was no less influential when I furst hid from a growing storm in the ostentatious castle he built for himself (his many followers dubbed it “the Cathedral”), and I gather that though he was a high enough shade that he nefur n33ded to fear culling, he advocated from the beginning for the rights of the culled. Though his followers were many, he only chose to cull a single troll out of the thousands who clamored for his affections- with good reason, of course. His actions brought about sw33ping social changes to the very nature of culling.

While it has always b33n paramount in a culler’s eyes to give their culled the highest pawssible standard of living, the culled themselves often found themselves trapped in toxic environments. The kinder cullers would nonetheless groom the trolls they culled to be subservient and silent while remaining completely dependent on their owners. It was not uncommon to s33 trolls -still wearing the collars and sigils of their cullers- wandering and starving in the str33ts, as they had no knowledge of how to care fur themselves. Many cullers were crueler still, actively beating and tormenting their culled (I have heard of one purrticuarly cruel culler who sewed their mouths shut and left them to starve after an act of defiance, although I grant he was an exception).

Of course, the outright cruelty was not what left many culled broken husks- the purractice of cullers using one of the trolls they culled fur both pleasure and pailing has gone on fur nearly as long as culling itself (though Her Impurriousness could hardly have fores33n that consequence, as she was a mere half a dozen sw33ps when she ascended). Howefur, trolls were culled at much younger ages befur the Prophets moved for regulations- trolls as young as six sw33ps were culled with no repurrcussions, and there existed a thriving black market with much younger ones waiting to be claimed and taken. Consent was a furmality rarely taken, and though I have only heard rumors of this, there was allegedly a number of rogue bounty hunters who killed off young trolls’ lusii (the lusii would be given as a tribute to Gl’bgolyb, and the trolls would be sold off to the highest bidder, often some ruthless buccan33r who operated far beyond the influence of Her Impurriousness).

The Prophets, by some strange mix of rational arguments and pure charisma, managed to amass an enormous following advocating for these changes. However, he feared- quite justifiably- that some of the more influential players on the black market might stage an attack on him. Though he himself held no fear of death, he hated the thought that his most loyal followers might be harmed as a result of his temurrity. To k33p his culled Communer and a handful of his closest purriests sheltered from danger, he constructed a mighty furtress where he and his cohort of followers lived- the Cathedral. Although he and his priests came and went as often as they felt was safe so s33k out further support, the Communer stayed hidden in one of the Cathedral’s hidden rooms, far from the dangers of the world outside.

It was this tiny room I found myself in after s33king refuge from a thunderstorm- I wriggled in through an unlocked window (a strange anomaly in such a secure building) and found myself in one of the winding hallways that the Cathedral was so famous for. Though the Cathedral itself was not unusually large befur it was burned down, its layout was sprawling and meandering enough that would-be assassins might nefur find their intended target. Ind33d, I myself might have gotten lost in the labyrinth if I had not chanced to hear the sound of music drifting in from a nearby passageway.

Alert for any pawssible danger, I slunk closer to the music until I was just outside the room it was coming from. I p33red in, and to my supurrise, I found myself face to face with the Communer who I had heard so many rumurrs about. As he pawsed in his dance to look at me, he s33med efurry bit as shocked as I was. He recovered swiftly, though, and invited me in to k33p him company, pawlite as could be. We spoke at length of our lives until the storm had subsided, and in time the subject of the Toneless came up.

The Toneless had wandered for sw33ps, speaking of his visions where he could and doing what he could to sway people to his ideas. Though many s33med receptive, few were truly willing to abandon their ideals compurrletely, and he found himself somewhat alone in the world. By some strange coincidence, he sought refuge in the Cathedral in much the same way I had- even slipping in through the same window. To his misfurtion, he was not discovered by this kindly Communer, but by the Prophets himself.

The Prophets, by all accounts, should have disemboweled the interlopurr on the spot. Yet something about the presence of the Toneless soothed him, and each embraced the other. The Prophets offurred the Toneless a room in the Cathedral and asking him permission to cull him. Though the Toneless was reluctant, he agr33d, as he saw no better prospects in his near future.

The Toneless tried to find some ray of happiness in the comfurt and stability of the Cathedral, yet as the months stretched into sw33ps, he grew restless and yearned to spread his visions to the world again. The Prophets forbade him from ever leaving, however- he feared the Toneless would be just as valuable a target as the Communer (if not more so, due to the mystique of his hidden blood color), and he hid the poor Toneless away, until he begged the Communer to help him escape. The Communer assured me that he loved the Prophets far too much to leave, but he catpitulated to distract the Prophets as the Toneless slipped away.

From there, the Prophets went half- mad with grief, searching for any scrap of infurmation he could find to bring back his beloved Toneless. He should hardly have worried- rumurrs of his exploits danced across Befurus, escalating in scope and incredibility until they reached the ears of the Empress herself. Though she was under much scorn fur her leniency concerning the culled, she was clever enough to realize the Toneless- beyond the hemospectrum and quite notorious fur his visions- might make a fine figurehead to assure the rising oppurrsition that she was a benevolent ruler. She sent out bands of hunters in secret headed by her two closest advisors (the Sentinel guiding the search on land, and the Admurral leading the search on the seas) to “rescue” him and cull him in an enormous ceremony to pawcify the rising influnce of the Prophets’ movement.

Though the Admurral found the Toneless first, it was the Sentinel who brought him to Her Impurriousness. With the sort of celebratory verve only royalty is capable of, she arranged for him to be culled furmally the next day, in front of the masses of revolting crowds. The Toneless heard this and despaired, for now he would be trapped in captivity just as encompassing as the Prophets’-yet it would be worse, as he would be guarded even more stringently and would lack the benefit of the Prophets’ soothing purresence. He had no pawssible chance of escape, and could only wait for his life of captivity to begin.

Resigned to fate, he joined Her Impurriousness on the royal docks the next day. The crowds gathered by the hundred, then by the thousand. Some wished to s33 how sincere the Empress was in this culling, while others were curious about his blood color and hoped he would be furced to reveal it during the processions. Most, however, were nothing more than loyal citizens who wished only to share in their ruler’s celebration.

The Empress addressed her subjects directly fur a short while, until the Sentinel and the Admurral coaxed the Toneless from his cell. Yet just befur she could place the tyrian collar symbolizing her ownership of him about his neck, the entire dock rumbled and rippled, sending a wave of panic through the crowd. The Empress fell back to safety, but the Toneless was rooted to the spot with fear, and could not bring himself to move even as a spiderweb of cracks ran along the dock. The Admurral- who was madly in love with the Empress and feared she had begun to favor the Sentinel- took the opportunity to push his competitor out onto the dock, sending a hail of bifurcated sparks out across the churning waters. Suddenly, the dock fell away entirely, dropping the poor Toneless and Sentinel into the waiting, wailing mouth of Gl’bgolyb.

Devastated though I was to hear of my beloved one’s demise, I found solace in the simple act of being near one who had known him nearly as well as I had. The Communer had grown quite close to the Toneless in the time they knew each other, and he was just as saddened at his death. However, he was still grateful fur my company, and invited me back the next night. He saw that together, we could tell the full story of the Toneless’s life, and he offured to teach me how to write so that we might spread his ideas and visions even more thoroughly. I accepted his invitation quite eagerly, and escaped out the window just befur the Prophets himself entered to speak to his Communer.


	4. The Four Loves: Moiraillegiance

After my first m33ting with the Communer, I returned as often as I could to his cell. Not only I was determined to learn how to write, but I could s33 how he longed fur the compawny of another troll. He was, after all, very much alone, with only the Prophets and a select few attendants wandering in and out of his life. I too had few others to spend my life with, as my devotion to the Toneless rather than a culler put a block betw33n me and most of the other trolls I met. Mewtual loneliness is a strange thing to base a friendship off of, but in time, we grew close. He taught me letters, words and how to craft a purroper sentence, and I delighted in furming poems with his help, mimicking the songs of the ancients. After our lessons, I would share with him all the news and stories I had heard since our last m33ting, k33ping him up to date on the events in the world around him. He was purrticuarly enthralled by the tails I told of the pirates that roamed the seas, and often he would show me writings of his own- adventures of bloodthirsty seafarers and lost trolls and skylarks who never grew up.

Howefur, as we grew closer, the Communer’s affections for the Prophets faded. He would often bemoan to me how his culler tried to draw him closer each night, bleating and pleading to be held for a bit. The Communer spurrned him every time- how could he love the one who had kept him hidden away from the adventures and wonders of the outside world for so long? I often worried how this might end- the Prophets was hardly stable to begin with, and I sensed the Communer’s distance could only compound problems further.  
Unfurtunately, I was quite correct. The Prophets himself overheard us murmurring during one of our lessons and threw the door open. No doubt he suspected some furm of infidelity, and as his eyes fixed on me, I could s33 the rage burning in them. In a flash, he had shoved the Communer out of the way and was towering over me. His hands drew a club that hung at his waist- a target like him requires constant purrotection, but why he favored such a brutal instrument was beyond me.

He raised the club over my head, but befur he could strike, a passing attendant chanced to notice the scene. In a singular motion, whatever devotion he held fur the Prophets evapurrated, and he grabbed for the bow strapped to his back. The wood splintered beneath his furious touch. With the sort of sp33d and defiance I had never s33n befur- and ind33d, have never s33n since- he struck down the highblood and slung the bowstring about his neck, angling to choke the Prophets to an awful death.

Though the rage of this stranger terrified me, I leapt up against him nonetheless, laying my hands against him and hushing his anger. By some strange murrical, his grip upon the bow slackened, and he slumped against me, calmed by my touch. (That, at its core, it the essence of the furst quadrant of love- pawcification of your purrtener. Their presence has a calming effect on your mood, and their touch can soothe even the worst fits of rage. Though the attraction is by no means physical, a moirail can easily be the most impurrtant quadrant to fill, pawticuarly if you are prone to violent moods as I confess I used to be. It sounds like a simple furiendship but runs deeper yet- a strange and purrlatonic sort of love. The name, it is worth adding, is an invention of my own- derived from tongues that have since faded from use, it apurroximately means "fated allegiance", as the best instances of this pairing is furmed more from purr chance than any sort of planning.) Armed with this peculiar new connection, we fled into the new action befur the Prophets could awaken and take revenge on my Guardian fur his treachery.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is- the epic story of how Nepeta (alias Simmhaji) invented the quadrants on Beforus. Crossposted from my old fanfiction.net account, which I've given up hope of guessing the right email/password combination to. As mentioned somewhere in the middle of the work, the later chapters will be case studies on whatever pairings will be interesting. If you want to see a specific relationship put to the Huntress's test, comment and let me know!


End file.
